


Where They Are

by ingthing



Series: Florist & Wedding Planner AU [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Demisexual Katsuki Yuuri, Dirty Talk, Emotions, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mention of sex toys, Movie Night, Not really dirty dirty talk it's just very suggestive, Oral Sex (but only a little), Post-masturbation guilt, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingthing
Summary: They find out things about themselves and step up to each other.Tags to be added.Preceded byOur Paceand takes place afterOf Dahlias and Deadlines Chapter 16.





	1. Bergamot

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here's a smutty fic for this AU!
> 
>  ~~I've decided to divide it into chapters of ~2K words each.~~ (Yeah, no, this fic is like 11k. 2k per chapter didn't happen.) The last one will probably take me longest to write, just a heads up!
> 
> I'm probably being impatient posting this so fast, but I think it flows better when the scenes are separated and the timing is spaced out the way I do with the main AU.  
>  __  
> Reading[Our Pace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10660563), in which Victor and Yuuri's views on taking things further are established, will probably help, here!  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has an unprecedented wet dream and kind of doesn't know what to do with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, y'all! Hopefully this first scene lives up to your expectations!

Yuuri loves his boyfriend every way possible, with and in every sense.

It came as a surprise. Victor's nape kisses, his nighttime snoring, his laughter and even his make Yuuri feel incredibly lucky to have fallen in love.

But feelings are confusing sometimes, like this particular morning, as he pulls his sheets up, glances downwards, and frowns. 

Well, that's a wake-up call, if he's ever had one. 

An experimental slide of his fingers downwards confirms his myopic speculation — what kind of dream did he have? It definitely wasn't _for all ages_ , whatever it was.

By some miracle, Victor had let him sleep in, the other side of the bed empty and cool. Yuuri remembers that his boyfriend has a wedding to coordinate today, though he could probably guess that without knowing. Otherwise, the only place Victor would be at ten in the morning on a Sunday is kneeling at his bedside with Makkachin, attempting to wake him even though it's the weekend and Yuuri is damn well determined to sleep in till at _least_ ten-thirty. 

Kneeling. Oh, _god_.

His dream. Victor was… kneeling at his bedsi- between his _knees_ , pale eyelashes fluttering coyly. Victor uses mascara sometimes, but Yuuri prefers his eyelashes natural, to pull the beautiful aqua blue of his irises out even further. Victor's fingers are fanned out on his naked- _naked_ \- thighs, pressing. Well, resting, more like, but to dream-Yuuri, his fingers felt like they wanted to liquefy the tension buried in his bones. Like the merciless sun turned on the ice cube of his heart, warmth radiating from Victor's large palms and up Yuuri's spine. And that silky, adoring tone of his voice— the one Victor reserves just for him, the one that never fails to make his heart skip and calm him all at the same time. It doesn't even matter what dream-Victor was saying; the thrumming of his voice in Yuuri's ears is disarming enough.

Dream-Victor's words come back to him like a freight train running into a wall, and Yuuri honest to god gives a full body shudder. 

His memory conveniently cuts there.

Why does he only ever remember _sex_ dreams? Can a dream involving his boyfriend staring up at him from between his thighs and doing literally nothing else even be considered a _sex dream_?

His dick seems to think so. As well as the rest of him, besides the part of his brain he's using to think.

Yuuri drags his hand over his crotch again, and it becomes abundantly clear that he can't just lie in bed and leave his boner to deal with itself. He's about to slip his fingers past the top of his sweats when he remembers where he is.

This is Victor's bed. And _his_ bed, but it still feels weird to jerk off _here_. In their bed. Where they haven't even gotten past light petting and languid kissing. 

Oh, god. Yuuri's thinking about _sex_. He's never thought about sex. 

Okay, maybe that's a lie. He's definitely masturbated before, to get that physical release, to get to sleep, or to take the edge off his nerves, or just to pass the time when the internet's down. Maybe he's wondered how people get off on or with others, or how, crazily, people can be comfortable enough with each other to _want_ to strip bare and _do it_. But _never_ has Yuuri woken up half-hard with the vivid imagery of another person between his legs lingering in his mind.

This is a morning of firsts, and it's now Yuuri's first time getting out of _his boyfriend's bed_ and navigating around a _wet dream induced_ _hard-on_ to go get a steamy shower.

He pulls his clothes off, pausing after slipping out of his boxer briefs to examine the fabric. A wet spot is, predictably, soaked into the front, and Yuuri tosses it into the laundry hamper before he can think too long on it. 

The glass shower steams up quickly, and Yuuri steps into it with a deep breath. He's been hard before. Nothing new. He just needs to take ahold of the situation and get cracking. But not before he lathers up with soap and gives himself a cursory cleaning. He's kind of sweaty from the extra bedding they'd piled onto the bed in preparation for harsher weather. 

_Just do what you normally do, Yuuri,_ he thinks, staring down at himself and watching water trickle off his length. _Just… jerk off and go on with life._

Slicking his hair back so it doesn't obstruct his view, Yuuri brings a hand to his half-hard erection and tentatively grasps it in a loose fist, rubbing his thumb around the head and exhaling slowly at the sensation. Oh, that does feel good. The slow drag is teasing, like he's trying to relearn the behavior. Yuuri hasn't felt the urge to get off in a while, so maybe he's so keyed up that his mind conjured a dream to make him masturbate. Like some kind of weird self-love therapist.

He usually prefers to be in bed or seated when he does this, but the tingle in his toes feels stronger, the friction of his strokes hitting harder every time. In the shower, no one can hear him moan, but Yuuri can hear himself, and the one he just let out is… he can't believe that was his voice. He clenches his hand so the press is tighter; the water urges things along, but a little soap might feel good. 

He uses his free hand to reach for one of the various pump bottles on the shower shelf, locating the bottle furthest to the right and squeezing a dollop into his palm. 

And the moment he slicks himself up, he realizes he's made a big mistake.

It's _Victor's_ shower gel. The one that smells like bergamot and lavender. The one that Victor smells like when he's shower-fresh and that Yuuri takes in deeply when he nestles his face against Victor's chest. 

His _bare_ chest. Victor sleeps in nothing but _briefs._

(Speaking of chests, Yuuri's heart is thudding out of his.) 

The slide feels good, but when he thrusts his hips into the circle of his hand, it feels better. A delicious sensation is crawling up his body from the crotch up, and he shudders a breath when he gets the genius idea of fucking into his fist shallowly, tilting his head up in an attempt to avoid the perfume from the lather with a deep gasp. 

It's no use, he can still smell it, still knows that he's masturbating with Victor's fancy French milled soap and that he's probably going to have to go out and buy some other soap for himself because he's _never_ going to stop associating that smell with what he's doing right now. His conscience won't allow it.

Victor's hair smells like bergamot, too. It's always soft and it frames Victor's face so nicely, and Yuuri loves to run his fingers through it and massage his fingertips into Victor's scalp. It always pulls the most contented hums from the older man, his eyes fluttering shut and relaxing as he works. And Yuuri loves putting his nose in his hair and taking deep whiffs when they spoon together. Victor's voice sounds deeply satisfied at times like those. It settles deep in Yuuri's bones and he'd be lying if he didn't wish the hint of a rasp that Victor gets when he sleeps in with him could stay a while. Preferably long enough for Yuuri to get Victor's lips by his ear so he can feel every little vibration when he speaks.

It's second only to the way Victor groaned once when Yuuri licked hesitantly into his mouth as they kissed one night, a throaty, deep thing like the purr of an engine, almost pleading, that made Yuuri chase it harder. But Victor never really pushes, always gentle and conscious of Yuuri's comfort, breaking kisses when his breath sounds like it's running out or redirecting him with soft touches and quiet reassurement. Victor told him he doesn't want to go at any pace other than theirs, and Yuuri loves him.

Yuuri's breaths are coming ragged, back turned to the stream of water and his free arm propped against the glass walls to support himself as he pushes his hips further, feeling a surge of emotion that he doesn't really understand but that makes him want to sprint to completion. 

Victor loves him, wants the best for him, is so good to him, spoils him rotten even though he doesn't really deserve it and welcomes him home with open arms; he holds him close and murmurs in his ear on restless nights and lets Yuuri know how much he means to him. 

Immeasurable love, like Yuuri's never fathomed.

And Yuuri wants to give him everything and more, to repay him over and over and learn to shower Victor praise like Victor does for him and learn to love like Victor loves him. He wants Victor to be selfish like he is, to ask for more from him because there's so much he wants to give.

There are tears mixing with the droplets from his hair and it's a surprise when he can't suppress one last outburst, a stuttered "Victor," and pleasure catches up to him in a knee-weakening blast of sensation. 

When his eyes finally focus again, breath still heavy, he's sitting on the floor of the shower, water pounding on his head, watching blurrily as the evidence of his release slides down the steamed up glass, leaving a milky trail behind.

Yuuri groans. His conscience _definitely_ won't let him forget this. 

He sweeps the cum off the wall and drops it into the drain, making sure to wipe down the area and clean the rest of the soap off himself. The shower is turned off (how much water did he _use_?) and Yuuri dries himself quickly, pulling his robe on and going to brush his teeth. 

He looks at himself in the mirror with a furrow in his brow. Did he look different? Would Victor know he'd just jerked off with his soap and come with a gasp of his name? Would Victor be able to tell from the steamier-than-usual bathroom? Shoot, he needs to turn on the ventilation fan. 

_No, Yuuri_ , he thinks to himself, giving himself two firm slaps to his cheeks, _you don't just magically transform the first time you get off thinking about someone else._

But that _cum down the drain._ Victor will find out someday. He's going to turn on the shower and the remnants of moisture will leave a _cum-print_ clear as day against the foggy glass. A _cum-print_. He's bound to know. 

A cup of tea and a piece of toast later, Yuuri is feeling calmer, and he takes a deep breath. 

Victor said he _wasn't opposed_ to "things beyond kissing or cuddling." Maybe Victor wakes up with random boners too, after frustrating dreams about… Yuuri stops his thoughts there. He doesn't know if he can handle thinking about the hypothetical suggestive things _he_ might be doing in Victor's dirty dreams, if any at all. Does Victor even _have_ dirty dreams? He's never told Yuuri, if he has— understandable, given how hesitant Yuuri is at the mere thought of taking things further than they have.

But this dream Yuuri had. This wasn't _nothing._ Was he… He definitely got more aroused thinking about his boyfriend. He definitely dreamt about Victor between his knees doing _god-knows-what,_ looking up at him with a sparkle in his eye and his lips set in a mischievous grin.

Yuuri buries his head in his arms on the kitchen counter.

How is he supposed to _face_ Victor? He's supposed to just go _"Hi, honey, how was your day? I totally didn't wake up with a boner after a kind of raunchy dream about you, and I totally didn't just wank in the shower and scream your name when I came"_ when Victor walks in? 

Maybe Yuuri is overreacting. Victor would probably _love_ to hear the news that he just became Yuuri's wank material (as cringey as that sounds,) and he would probably be ecstatic to do more than just kissing and cuddling, like he said. All he knows is that Victor loves him, and that he loves Victor, and they'll probably work this out. 

Even if Yuuri won't be able to look at Victor's shower gel the same way ever again.

Yuuri is extra blushy when Victor returns from work that day, but he doesn't mind; it's cute, and it gives Victor an excuse to touch Yuuri's face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Victor's turn, with possibly just as much feeling!
> 
> Let me know what you think of this fic- I tried to adjust the way I write smut to fit the characterization of Yuuri in this AU.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this so far!


	2. Carbonara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor wakes up in the early hours of the day between Yuuri and Makkachin with the most unanticipated hard-on he's ever had.

Unlike Yuuri's, (though he doesn't know it,) Victor's hard-on comes at the most inconvenient of times, in the most incriminating of places: while dozing off with Yuuri clinging to him like a limpet and Makkachin at his back.

Rather than being caught between a rock and a hard place, his _hard place_ is stuck between two very warm, soft things, and if he wasn't so close to Yuuri and if Yuuri didn't smell so good he might have been able to will himself to sleep, because it's definitely past five in the morning. But Yuuri's hair is torturously tickling Victor's nose, his face slack and pressed against his chest trustingly, and it's all Victor can do to curse silently and hope he doesn't go full-koala on him tonight. 

Or perhaps he can sneak out of bed and deal with this in the bathroom. That sounds like a far more comfortable option.

Thinking quick, Victor disentangles himself from Yuuri's arms, making sure to go slowly so he doesn't wake him up. Makkachin is asleep too, and only stirs a little as Victor scoots down the bed and hauls her bodily into Yuuri's arms in his place. Picking Yuuri's arm up, he drapes it back over the poodle, and to his relief, they both continue sleeping like Victor hadn't just eschewed cuddling with them for a late night masturbation session.

He tiptoes into the bathroom and closes the door. 

This isn't his usual setup— he likes to luxuriate, preferably lying on his sheets with plenty of puffed up pillows behind him, aided by a little lube and his active imagination. And on some occasions, with his nice lace underwear and a toy.

But in the bathroom, all he has is his imagination and a couple of towels. And maybe some body oil, but he wants clean up to be as quick as possible. It would be too telling to return to bed smelling like roses, anyway. 

Thinking fast, Victor fumbles in the dark to look for the plush bath mat by his tub and rolls it up, pushing it against the bottom crack of the locked door to hide the light after he turns it on. It's sharp, hurting his eyes, but he adjusts fairly quickly. It feels odd to be so secretive about something he once wouldn't even close the bedroom door for, but he and Yuuri have talked about this, and the last thing Victor wants is to scare him away with his body's needs. He doesn't plan to be loud, but everything sounds louder in the dead of the night when he's still sleep addled so the mat should hopefully block noises from escaping.

He shivers when he sits down on the toilet seat and the cold cover comes in contact with his bare legs. The air is chilly after slipping out of the warm bed, but this skin contact makes him wince. As soon as he gets used to the cold, he turns his attention to his half-hard length, which is tenting his dark underwear. 

It's unusual for him to suddenly get hard like this. His usual sessions begin with a night of relaxing, maybe a glass of wine in one hand and a nice meal on the table while jazz hums in the background. Just enough to let loose, and then once the dishes are left in the sink for his future self, he would take a long, body-melting bath before bouncing onto the bed naked and letting himself indulge. He's used to slow teasing at the beginning, maybe a pinch of his nipples or two, just until his arousal rears its head and begins to spread. 

_This_ erection had no prologue, no build-up. He'd just been cuddling with Yuuri as they slept, same as always. They tended to kiss before sleeping, something they found they both enjoyed a little before Yuuri moved in. It's their form of "I love you," one that Yuuri can offer without stuttering and one that Victor's more than happy to pepper all over Yuuri's face. When they're still fairly awake and sleep is just routine, the kisses don't last as long. But on nights when one of or both of them are exhausted, shuffling pitifully across their sides of the bed to meet in the middle like they did last night, Victor can truly take his time. He could make out languidly with Yuuri like this for hours, though he always stops them before they can get any steamier, or when it feels like their jaws are too tired to continue.

These past few days, when he had squeezed Yuuri's arm and broken their wet liplock, there was an added layer of something to his boyfriend's drowsy eyes, something that almost looks like _want_. But he always goes to sleep without question after Victor's good night forehead kiss, too tired to really do anything else. 

Victor was tired too, but now, he's taking himself in hand, briefs rucked down his thighs and trying to breathe like he isn't relieving a latent sexual itch. Like he's desperately _not_ thinking about the wet heat of Yuuri's mouth or the hesitant press of his tongue and how that might feel elsewhere on his body. 

Call him uncouth, but he _had_ pleasured himself to the thought of Yuuri once before— once before on a lonely night long before they dated, spent feeling drunk and lovesick and yearning. Spent feeling absolutely filthy for daring to think about the sweet man from the flower shop in such a way, when they'd hardly met. His mind didn't run far— just to what he's already seen, Yuuri's dark hair and his sturdy shoulders and his soft lips and a jawline so even Victor had to hold himself back from balancing endless kisses on it. 

Now, he doesn't imagine, he _knows_ ; he knows what all of that feels like. And as wonderful as that is, it's not really adequate fantasy material now.

Guilt rises in his throat; he remembers suddenly that Yuuri is just a few steps away, sleeping peacefully outside the bathroom door. No, it wouldn't be right to think of him like this, especially after they talked and learning that Yuuri doesn't feel comfortable going further just yet. Victor imagines how upset he might be if Victor ever admitted to getting off on the thought of him— but oh, it's impossible not to think that and see his face in his mind and want to kiss the frown from between his brows and apologize (even as his hand continues to work up and down his length.) 

Yuuri's upset expression is startlingly close to the face he makes when he's woken up, and the adorable scrunch of the bridge of his nose that accompanies that is irresistible. He loves seeing that little wrinkle, loves it when it's accompanied by Yuuri's beautiful laugh. 

And the things that very same voice says sometimes make the breath catch in Victor's throat for more indecent reasons. His Yuuri apparently has quite a dirty mind despite his initial timidity, and just cannot resist making a wicked joke. 

And that one time he leaned in, jokingly insinuating he would get on his knees and _su—_

Victor gasps at the rampant thought, and clenches his fingers around the base of his cock, feeling a rush of desperation that he vehemently ignores with a bite to his lip. No, he shouldn't think of that. Not even if the words had been from Yuuri himself. He lets go slowly, overly cautious that he might come on the thought of Yuuri… _doing things._

This is possibly the most frustrating masturbation session he's ever had. Victor considers himself to have a great deal of self control, but there's only so much he can stave off. 

He nearly whines when he starts to stroke himself again, in a slow back and forth that he punctuates with a good rub around the head. It's slicker than he anticipated, and he sucks in a breath as he wiggles his hips to get better leverage on the slick toilet seat. Victor wishes he had his vibrator here. It's a silent vibe, a godsend, and has a flared base and handle that anchors it all in him perfectly and never fails to bring him to the edge on even the most trying days. He moans aloud just thinking about it, then purses his lips shut with a grunt. The vibrator makes him too loud, even in memory.

His mind doesn't stop searching everywhere for some figment of imagination to latch onto and expand on. But memories of past lovers wouldn't satisfy or feel right, and as fashion-model attractive as some of them had been, all of them paled in comparison to Yuuri. 

Ugh, _fine_.

Helplessly, Victor lets his head drop back to the wall and his breath shudders out. One hand is cupped under his balls, massaging the skin delicately with his thumb as his other hand pulls relentlessly at his erection, a little sensitive from the unaided friction but too on edge to care.

Yuuri, happy. Yuuri, soft in morning light. Yuuri, napping in his arms because he can't stay awake through the French films Victor finds artistically stunning. His body, warm and real against Victor's own torso, the shift of his legs between Victor's own teasing but unfettered. Victor's aware he's got it bad, as he's been told many, many times. He has no issue with that.

But then he remembers the first time they went to the Italian restaurant nearby, and the borderline sexual noise his boyfriend had made upon slurping up a few strands of carbonara, and how he'd laughed too hard at the time, when Yuuri's spaghetti whiplashed his cheeks; on afterthought, as Yuuri wiped the sauce away from his lips, it looked like _something else_ was there, instead of the decadent cream sauce.

Just the thought of his own ejaculate anywhere near Yuuri's face right now is horrifying and arousing, and the thought of Yuuri's release on _his_ face is just a little bit better. Yuuri, between his lips, cradling his face softly even as Victor lets his wanton side burst forth and caters to Yuuri to make him forget everything but Victor. His fingers fly into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue in what might be an effort to stifle his voice but more likely is a mimicry of the fantasy Victor's playing out in his head. 

His hips jolt on the toilet seat and his thighs tense and his toes grasp the tiles of the floor, and it should be cold, but Victor feels steam rising from his own body, feverish and flushed. What would Yuuri taste like? Would he like the taste of himself on Victor's lips? Would he blush adorably as Victor swallows and as he tells Victor that he shouldn't have? 

Just the thought of Yuuri finding enough pleasure from his mouth to come inside it is too much, and Victor chokes on a gasp, fingers slipping out of his mouth as he bends in half when he comes. It feels like a punch, an impact that makes him curl into himself with the sheer force of it, and he can only just stop shaking enough to sit back up and feel the cool porcelain at his back.

Victor's breathless, and it's just as well, because there's nothing to do but try and not curse himself out after staring down his torso and seeing the evidence of all his filthy thoughts laid bare.

He's _awful_. Yuuri's in the next room, blissfully oblivious, and he just came under the spell of his dirty fantasies about him. Yuuri's not comfortable with even _talking_ about sex yet, and Victor knows this and he had to go and betray that. Victor's the worst boyfriend, man, _human being_ to ever exist. Well, not really, but he's still _the worst_. He's going to feel this guilt for the rest of his life. 

He grabs some toilet paper and uses a little too much to clean all the droplets off his belly and thighs, dropping the tissue down the toilet bowl and flushing before patting himself down with a damp towel and pulling his underwear back up. In the full mirror above the sink, he looks tired, flustered, and _definitely_ post-orgasmic. Victor sighs and rubs his face with the towel too, wishing that the cool water would wash his blush away. 

It didn't feel bad by any stretch of his imagination; in fact, it was possibly one of the most earth-shattering self-induced orgasms that he'd ever had. But it had come from the same place all his deep desires came from, a place that really shouldn't mix with his loving Yuuri and their deep trust. 

He yawns and decides to go back to sleep before he can overthink himself into a panic.

When he turns off the light, kicks the bath mat back to its usual place, and reenters the bedroom, Makkachin seems to have resettled at the foot of the bed, and Yuuri is more or less in the same configuration, but his arms are empty again. The sight makes Victor sigh. There's a dip of the mattress as he gets into bed, and his eyes drift closed, lying as straight as a board in an effort to avoid Yuuri's cuddling, as tempting as it is. 

A few short hours later, his alarm rings and his plan seems to have failed, because he's yet again tangled with Yuuri's limbs, his face in Yuuri's chest and a hand gentle on the side of his face. It's tender, and Victor only feels the threat of tears stronger when he looks up and sees that Yuuri's still sleeping. It doesn't matter whether he gravitated to Yuuri or the other way around during their slumber; but to wake up after the storm of doubt that he had early that morning and find himself in such a protective embrace is just… there are no words to describe the reassurance that this brings. Some of the uncertainty melts from his mind. It's with much more inner peace that Victor slips out of bed this time, preparing for the day ahead. 

Yuuri is in the kitchen when he emerges from the bedroom fully dressed and ready to go, and the younger man turns to him and presses a thermos of tea into his hands. 

"Good morning," he smiles, "early start today, right?"

"Yes, thanks," Victor replies, taking the drink gratefully and pushing Yuuri's glasses up for him. They slide down easily at times, and Yuuri adjusts them once they're up high enough. "It's a shame I have to go upstate for this venue. It'll be a two hour ride with traffic, at least." Victor sighs. 

"Sounds like fun," Yuuri grins, handing him a lunch bag, to Victor's surprise. "I packed you some leftovers and made some rice. It should stay warm; I used my old thermal lunchbox." 

Victor nearly melts. They actually had caterer tastings scheduled for that morning, but a _home packed lunch-_ "Yuuri, I love you," Victor says with no little feeling, putting the thermos and lunch bag down on the counter to hug his boyfriend. 

"I, uh, love you too— but they're just _leftovers_ , I mean, it's really not such a big deal." Yuuri protests, abandoning his spatula by the burner to rest his hands on Victor's back. 

Victor's beaming when he finally releases him, and Yuuri smells _burning_. 

" _Fuck,_ the eggs!" Turning back to the pan on the stove, Yuuri turns the flame off to examine the damage done to his breakfast with a groan. "Victor, you made me burn my eggs."

"Nothing that isn't salvageable with some ketchup," Victor remarks sarcastically, grinning when he sees the eggs are completely darkened on one side. "Or you could get a breakfast sandwich when you walk Makkachin. That's probably tastier."

"Aren't you supposed to be out the door by now?" Yuuri jokes, elbowing Victor's arm. "I might actually do that, though."

"Yeah, I have to be going," Victor sneaks a peck to Yuuri's cheek and picks up his food. His shoes are tied on quickly and he ruffles Makkachin's fur as he shrugs on his coat. "See you for dinner."

"Oh, Victor, wait—" Yuuri turns, facing the door. "What do you think of Italian for dinner? We haven't had that carbonara in a while."

" _No carbonara_." Victor blurts, the memory of his illicit morning wank still far too vivid in his mind. Yuuri looks surprised by the outburst, and he blinks in shock. "Sorry, I mean, I do like their carbonara, but could we try something with a _red_ sauce this time? Pomodoro or maybe a _ragú_?"

"I don't know what either of those mean, but I'll text you the menu later." Still confused, Yuuri replies.

"Great, okay, good!" Victor opens the door, looking back to blow a kiss at Yuuri. "Thanks, Yuuri, love you!" 

He makes his way downstairs just a little late for the group van pickup, per Mila and Georgi's expectations, and he smiles over his packed lunch the whole way to their upstate farmhouse venue.

Victor supposes he deserves it when, defiantly, Yuuri orders a salad to share, spaghetti carbonara for himself, and a spaghetti pomodoro for him. 

Yuuri looks like he does really enjoy his meal, so Victor decides that he'll have to abstain from thinking about white milky things for the duration of their dinner. 

Still, it's a huge relief when Yuuri finishes and finally, _finally,_ wipes his mouth.


	3. Titanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's movie night, and Victor and Yuuri have a _lot_ to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy this regardless of whether I tell you to enjoy it or not! 
> 
> It's a bit of a roller-coaster, but I promise it'll be satisfying in the end!

Yuuri's learned that it's really, really difficult to bring sex up.

It really shouldn't be— it's not like they haven't discussed it before, and he's pretty sure that Victor isn't gonna turn around and run if he suggests trying stuff that's a little deeper than kissing and cuddling, but every damn time Yuuri finds a decent opportunity to ask, the words stick in his throat and he has to brush the question away and tell Victor it was nothing. But it's _something_ , not nothing.

Yuuri would scold his disobedient vocal chords for stopping him from expressing that "something" if he wasn't unsure how Victor would react. Maybe it's too much to ask when they both already love what they have. Maybe it's selfish to tell Victor how far they can go when his boyfriend is the kindest, most conscientious boyfriend to ever exist.

(Maybe Victor doesn't want Yuuri the way Yuuri's starting to want him.)

Yuuri shoves that thought to the back of his mind for later rumination and he puts all his weight into his elbows as he props them up on the kitchen counter. His tea is still steeping, and he straightens his legs in an experimental hamstring stretch; they could be a little more flexible. Maybe he should do lunges when he carries things around the basement of the shop.

At this point, Yuuri's no stranger to Victor's surprise hugs from behind, so he doesn't even flinch when Victor's arms come around his torso and the weight of Victor's head rests on his shoulder. There's the gentle pressure of his chest expanding with a deep breath against Yuuri's back.

"Did you make enough for me, too?" Victor asks, muffled by the fabric of Yuuri's old t-shirt.

"Uh, yeah," Yuuri replies, remembering that he's making tea. "It's ceylon."

Victor hums approvingly and kisses Yuuri's shoulder before letting go of him and turning his attention to Makkachin instead, who's waiting very patiently next to the coffee table where the DVD box for the movie they're about to watch is sitting.

And there lies the problem.

The problem isn't that Victor's attention is largely focused on Makkachin, no— they both love her dearly, and Yuuri could never be annoyed at Victor for wanting to spend time with the poodle (dogs, after all, are too good for this world and deserve boundless love.)

It's the _hug_.

Victor is tactile, a serial hugger. He has a daily hug quota to meet, one that Yuuri's grown fond of filling, and although Victor arguably hugs him more now than ever before, it's the way that it happens that confuses Yuuri. They're used to enjoying lengthy embraces; Yuuri usually wouldn't be released until well after the two minutes of steeping for their tea is up and the liquid is poured into mugs— and even then, Victor only lets go if they have to move somewhere else with their drinks (otherwise, he's mastered the art of over-the-shoulder tea-drinking.)

The past few days, Victor has been giving more frequent hugs, but they're shorter, and _that's_ what's throwing Yuuri off. Short hugs are for greetings and goodbyes. Short hugs are for when they're short on time, and considering that they've been in the apartment together for the past few hours and they have nowhere to be until the next afternoon, they can't be in a hurry. There's definitely something Victor isn't telling him that's causing all this.

But as Yuuri makes his way over to the sofa with their drinks, he has to admit that Victor isn't acting that different from usual. The hugs are weird, but otherwise, he's smiling just the same and seems pretty peppy. He grins, eyes crinkling at the edges, as Yuuri hands him his mug; he takes a sip too soon and yelps when he scalds himself. Yuuri sets his own tea down as he laughs at the reaction. Maybe he's just overthinking things because of the dream he had a week ago. Victor doesn't move away when Yuuri wiggles in his seat to get comfortable leaning on Victor, and the hand that twines with his between them is enough to put Yuuri's mind momentarily at peace as Victor presses play on the DVD player remote.

"I can't believe you haven't watched _Titanic_ , babe," Victor tuts, waiting as the opening credits play. "It's a classic. You should see it at least once."

"We're watching it now, aren't we?" Yuuri replies, sipping at his mug. "All I know about it is _My Heart Will Go On_ and that they could both have fit on the door."

"First of all, it was a door _frame_ ," Holding up one finger, then two, Victor explains. "Secondly, there wouldn't be enough buoyancy to keep them both afloat; it had to be just Rose."

"I mean, they both would probably be half frozen to death by that point in the movie anyway, but-"

Victor clutches onto Yuuri's arm. "Shh, shh, it's starting!"

Yuuri nods and turns his attention to the screen, glancing at Victor and finding how intent he is over rewatching this movie kind of adorable. And, well, if Victor really likes _Titanic_ that much, Yuuri will gladly watch it with him.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere between agreeing that Leo's eyes are mesmerizing, Kate Winslet's acting is arresting, and that the scene with the old couple in bed as the ship sinks is the saddest scene in the movie, Victor had gotten up to get a glass of wine, and they'd shared it. They'd shifted, too— Yuuri felt lazy halfway through and Victor reclined on the couch to accommodate him, letting Yuuri lie on his front as they paid partial attention to the TV screen.

"Well," Victor murmurs, extending his remote controlling arm out to turn the movie off, "did you like it?"

"I guess so. It wasn't as sad as I thought it would be. I mean, I already knew what would happen." Yuuri replies, cheek squished against Victor's chest. He hasn't moved from this position in twenty minutes, and he intends to stay deadweight a little longer. "I actually thought you would cry." Yuuri gestures to the tissue box placed conspicuously within arm's reach, and Victor laughs.

"I did the first time I watched it, but I've found I'm more affected by happy endings." Yuuri closes his eyes, feeling the low rumble of Victor's voice as he strokes his hair.

"Any reason why?"

Victor contemplates the question for a little while. "They're much rarer to come by in real life," he decides, sighing. "I've seen quite a few former clients' marriages turn sour— not to mention some of my past relationships that similarly… didn't work out. Relationships can fail easily."

Yuuri looks up at Victor, inches shy of his face, and nods imperceptibly. He's heard enough about Victor's few past relationships to know none were ever too deep, and he scoops his arms under Victor's lower back.

"But I've been incredibly lucky," Victor adds, sounding playful as he rubs Yuuri's shoulder. "I happen to have met someone."

"Uhuh?" Yuuri feels a smile tugging at his lips. "Who did you meet?"

"You see, there's a cute florist who works at the flower shop down the block," Victor narrates. "He wears blue glasses in front of his pretty mahogany eyes and has very soft black hair— oh, and he looks very good in an apron." The apron remark makes Yuuri snort, and Victor grins, continuing. "I'm willing to sacrifice hundreds of macarons just to see his beautiful smile, and he _loves_ poodles. He's considerate and indulges me whenever I want a hug. I could go on for hours."

"He sounds like a real catch," Yuuri remarks, trying not to blush out of his skin.

"And I have him right in front of me." Victor proudly notes, bringing his hands up to sandwich Yuuri's face in his palms. His boyfriend grunts when Victor presses his palms inwards, squishing his cheeks, and Victor laughs delightedly.

Yuuri manages to get his hands out from around Victor to pin Victor's on the sofa under them. Victor's breath hitches in surprise as Yuuri pushes himself up and straddles Victor's thighs; it's bold, yes, but if watching all of Victor's romance movies has taught him anything, it's that sometimes, actions speak louder than words. "You know, I've gotten pretty lucky too," Yuuri states, settling his weight and bringing his hands to Victor's shoulders.

Victor's hands lift off the sofa, a little unsure what to do or where to land. He opts to rest them on Yuuri's knees, looking up at Yuuri wide-eyed. "O-Oh?"

 _Okay, Yuuri, breathe— you don't have to be a total failure at flirting_. He just has to reciprocate; he just has to let Victor know what he loves about him, like Victor just did. His head is swimming with what he could say, and Yuuri furrows his brow. That's not going to work.

Actions are louder than words, so he pulls Victor in by the sides of his cardigan and his eyes only flit down to Victor's lips for a second before he meets them with his own, and it's a little satisfying to feel Victor stiffen under him instead of the other way around.

He looks surprised when Yuuri breaks away to gage his reaction. Nerves have started to bubble up by the time Victor smiles fondly, and Yuuri's relief is only combated by the nervousness of continuing and hopefully taking things further.

Thankfully, Victor takes the lead, angling his head up to kiss him, hands coming up to rest on Yuuri's hips. The graze of his fingertips over the sliver of skin peeking out from under Yuuri's shirt sends a shiver up his spine, and Yuuri replaces his hands on Victor's chest to lean closer. It's not that different from usual; they've made out countless times before this— but maybe it's because Yuuri's intent has changed that it feels new, or maybe it's the wine they had or the fact that it's late. Maybe it's because Victor's been busy this week and they haven't had as much time together as they normally would.

Can he feel it? Is Yuuri kissing any differently? It definitely feels different to Yuuri— Victor never tastes sweet, like so many sappy movies make kissing seem. Saliva apparently doesn't suddenly taste better when you're dating someone, but the person it's from helps. Victor tastes warm and wet and deep, with a hint of spice from the tea they had earlier and the tang of red wine. It's not like Yuuri hasn't tasted him before, but regardless of the taste, it feels heady, like melting under the heat of a hot shower after yearning for one all day. Like the coursing of water all over that makes him unwind, forgetting all his misgivings and focusing on how he can make it feel even better. If this is like a shower, Yuuri wants a _bath_.

Frustratingly, Victor's hands won't budge, making him bow his back to get chest to chest contact; it seems like his hands are frozen in place even though his soft moans and pliant mouth tell Yuuri to keep going. He wants to lay fully against Victor and lock their legs together, and he kind of wants those hands on his ass. Maybe Victor wants to do that, but isn't sure, so he's clinging onto Yuuri' hips for dear life. If that's the case, Yuuri will just have to make it clear that Victor is more than welcome to do that and then some.

So Yuuri slides his knees down the sofa and his body rests on Victor's, hands following him helplessly to come flush with Victor's own hips— and Yuuri nearly breaks lip contact when Victor hums a noise that could mean anything.

The noise comes with the press of Victor's crotch against his, and Victor is _definitely_ hard. It's relieving; Yuuri was afraid that Victor wouldn't respond like this. But he _is_ hard, and Yuuri's probably the cause.

It gives Yuuri a little thrill to realize this; he shifts his hips to get a little friction, and Victor breaks their kiss with a gasp.

He made Victor _gasp_. Yuuri opens his eyes, and he's met with the sight of Victor, cheeks pinkened and looking dazed. His eyes glint in the low light, and he's panting, hair all over the place. There's something unreadable in his expression, but _Yuuri did this to him_ and he doesn't even realize Victor's mouth is moving, or that he's even speaking, until a moment later.

"Yuuri, what… what are you…?" Victor murmurs, brows furrowed.

 _I've been waiting to do this, I want to do more, Is this okay?_ Yuuri thinks, all jumbled into one mess of a knot. Instead of any of that, he manages to breathe, "You're _hard."_

Immediately, Victor looks concerned. "I'm sorry, I didn't… I should have said something when I felt it coming."

"What?" Yuuri gapes.

"I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable," Victor continues, maneuvering himself up from under Yuuri and shifting his weight off his crotch. "We don't have to do anything you don't want, and we should talk about this."

"But I thought..." Yuuri draws back, feeling his stomach churn. "No, that's not… I'm _not_ uncomfortable." How can he say that he's happy that Victor popped a boner _out loud_? It sounds creepy enough in his head.

"That doesn't mean you _are_ comfortable, or that you want to go any further than this." Victor replies softly, resting his hand on Yuuri's on the sofa. "Don't push yourself for my sake."

There's something comically self-centered about that plea, and Yuuri frowns. He's known that Victor's willing to have sex since August— and Yuuri had had more than enough time in the three months that followed to get to wanting it. They'd discussed this, and that conversation had helped Yuuri take his time. "Victor, you have it all wrong," he says, meeting Victor's ambivalent gaze. "I'm… _glad_ you got hard. I was worried you wouldn't."

"You were trying to _arouse_ me?" Victor asks, raising both eyebrows.

"Well, yeah." Blushing furiously, Yuuri admits, bringing a hand up to his nape. "That wasn't a regular kiss. I probably should have asked if you… wanted to, first."

"Maybe." Victor's hands come to interlock behind his waist, and he looks confused, squinting his eyes like it'll help him make sense of the situation. "So you… wanted me aroused, and you initiated that make-out session to do it. Why?"

Does Yuuri really have to spell it out? He's hard. Victor's hard. What else is there to put together? "Because, um, I wanted to try more?"

"You don't sound very sure." Victor notes, tilting his head to the side.

"I _am_ , though!"

"Yuuri, is there something bothering you? There's no need to feel pressured into this."

"I'm _not_ feeling pressured," Yuuri snaps back, exasperated. "And the only thing that's bothering me is that I _dreamt_ about you and I _jerked off in the shower_ thinking about it!"

The entire room seems to freeze over as Yuuri realizes what he's said, and Victor doesn't even blink for the next twelve seconds. _Oh my god. Why did I say that? There was literally no need to say that and that might be even creepier than saying "I'm glad you got hard," I'm an idiot-_

"You… you had a sex dream about me?" Victor chokes out.

"It wasn't really a sex dream!" Yuuri corrects defensively. "Wait, no, that sounds even worse. Just… it was a _dream_." He wants to dig a hole in the ground and hide in it, but he's already dug one so deep that he'd probably drop straight through the other side of the earth and implode in space. That honestly doesn't sound bad, at this point; Victor knows about the dream _and_ about the shower. The _shower._ Yuuri hides his burning face in his hands and groans, slouching.

Victor's still stunned by the news. _Yuuri_ dreamed about him. He woke up and had to… he masturbated in the shower thinking about it. _Victor's_ shower. Victor had felt so guilty over doing essentially the same thing, and now to find that Yuuri had done the same? He can't believe it.

Yuuri's apology is muffled from behind his hands, and Victor reaches up to take them away; Yuuri is redder than he's ever seen him, with a mortified expression to match, but Victor is so relieved that they're on the same page that he can only giggle at Yuuri's concern.

"Yuuri, Yuuri," Victor says, releasing his boyfriend's hands and trying not to laugh from elation, "I _adore_ you. Don't be sorry."

"I _can't._ I shouldn't have said anything. I messed up." Yuuri mutters, still frowning.

"No, I messed up," Victor sighs, taking one of Yuuri's hands in both of his own, "I felt something was different after we kissed before sleeping but didn't act on it. But it's a wonderful surprise— I'm so flattered that your dream about me was _riveting_ enough that-"

Yuuri groans and makes a face at the mention of his "crime," and Victor mercifully leaves his sentence there with a laugh. Instead, he leans forward, supporting himself with hands on Yuuri's shoulders, to run kisses up from Yuuri's mouth to his ear, all tingling and warm from Yuuri's flush. He whispers, "I may have done the same thing too, once or twice."

When he draws back, Yuuri's blush is somehow fiercer, his eyes are wide, and his mouth is dropped open. "You- oh my god," Yuuri croaks. "I can't believe we both…I thought I was the only one."

"It looks like we were more in sync than either of us thought." Victor smiles, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the muscle of Yuuri's shoulders. "Now, how did you want this to go?"

"I wanted… Well, I don't really know what I wanted. _More_ would be good." Yuuri puts bluntly, and Victor nods, grinning at the suggestion. "But let's… let's work up to actual sex."

"I wouldn't want it any other way." Victor agrees. "Lay on your back, darling. Talk me through it."

"Talk you through what? I'm not the experienced one here," Yuuri mutters as he complies with Victor's instructions, reclining with his head on the other side of the couch and taking his glasses off as they flip their positions.

"Just tell me what you want, if it feels good, if I should go slower-"

"Or faster?" Yuuri suggests, lifting an eyebrow and hugging his arms around Victor's neck. "Then talk me through it too. I want it to be good for both of us."

Victor has already lived this sentiment every waking moment since they began dating, but more than ever he feels _immeasurably_ lucky to love and be loved by Yuuri. Yuuri, who never stops surprising him, who's so considerate and honest that he can make Victor's heart throb with a single request. "I can do that," Victor promises, letting himself be pulled down and snaking his hand under Yuuri's shoulder to cradle his head.

Yuuri closes his eyes waiting for lips that don't come— Victor's peering down at him with a mischievous look when he opens them, and he huffs. "I really need to tell you to kiss me?"

"May I?" Victor teases, pressing the pad of his thumb softly against Yuuri's lower lip. It's still a little red from earlier, and it stiffens when Yuuri purses his lips together.

"Come _on_."

Victor slots his mouth against Yuuri's easily, and his minor frustration dissolves into a moan as he opens his mouth quicker to the press of Victor's tongue. It tastes hotter, hungrier than before. Like some kind of switch was flipped inside Victor and he's finally letting himself _take_. He's too giving, sometimes— it feels like he's being so careful to make sure Yuuri is always comfortable. It makes Yuuri wonder if it's really okay, but Victor has assured him he loves to spoil Yuuri. This kiss is a step towards Victor being more selfish, in a good way. Whatever Victor wants, Yuuri probably wants it too; they should know this by now, after countless hours spent together, but that always seems to escape them because they stay inside their own heads.

Yuuri widens his legs just enough for Victor to lie between them, and even though it feels a little vulnerable, Victor is right there, and this way, Yuuri can reach his hands all the way across his back. He needs Victor closer, his hand tighter in Yuuri's hair, lips permanently sliding against his own. He'd been afraid of this? That feels like a distant memory as he feels excitement spark in his chest.

Yuuri's hands are everywhere he can reach; Victor's back, his hair, his sides— though, to Victor's wonderment and delight, he seems to have stopped at his ass and the press of his fingers is making Victor's head fuzzy. Yuuri's hands are strong, and they pull Victor closer as if the magnetic force between them isn't enough— and his hands would be right, because never has Victor wanted more to sink into another person and stay there. It's simultaneously new and familiar— this couch has had its fair share of trysts, but none like this.

Setting a pace for them both with the hold he has on Victor's ass, Yuuri presses his hips up and sighs at the friction. So _this_ is what all the hype of sex is about; true, they've barely even started, but it feels good even through their clothes, drunk off the ebb and flow of moving together. Somewhere in it they'd stopped kissing in favor of actual breath, and though feeling the hum of Victor's mouth is fantastic, the hot panting by his neck is surreal; he's hearing, feeling, seeing, tasting Victor come apart in his embrace.

And when Yuuri impulsively worms his hands under the waistband of Victor's sweats only to find that Victor went _commando_ and that his ass is the smoothest, firmest thing he's ever squeezed, Victor gasps his name and goes still above him, forehead falling against Yuuri's chest and shuddering before he slumps. _Was that… Did he…?_

Yuuri freezes, staring down at Victor, who's heaving inelegantly against his torso. That was definitely him coming. That was definitely because of Yuuri grabbing his ass. His hands are _still on his ass. He made Victor come_. Yuuri's heart lurches with something like pride, and he takes his hands out from Victor's sweats to rest them on his back. "Um, so… Are you okay? That was kind of sudden, I'm sorry I didn't tell you-"

Victor pushes himself up, blush high on his cheeks and brows pinched together. "Yuuri," Victor mutters,"you're going to be the _death of me."_

"I… You're welcome." Yuuri replies on instinct, still processing what just happened, and Victor's so surprised by that response that he can't help but gape.

"So it was your plan to _undo_ me." Victor laments dramatically, rocking his hips against Yuuri's still-hard length and making him suck in a breath. "Grabbing my ass is cheating."

"I mean, you seem to like it— and how was I supposed to know you weren't wearing underwear?"

"And you are?"

"Yes!"

Victor grins cunningly. "Then I'll just have to make you come in it, won't I?"

Yuuri swears that his heart stops at the suggestion, and he stares wide-eyed up at Victor. What has he done?

But Victor doesn't suddenly turn into some incubus intent on making Yuuri come his brains out like in the bad hentai manga he read once; he senses Yuuri panicking a little, and his expression softens immediately, one hand coming up against Yuuri's cheek as he asks if the remark was too much.

"M-maybe a little," Yuuri admits, turning his face to Victor's palm. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his heart down.

"Want to stop?" Victor asks, searching Yuuri's expression.

"No, just… Kiss me." Yuuri urges, and he doesn't have to even wait, because Victor's already commanding his mouth tenderly, angling his chin up so Yuuri doesn't have to think about chasing Victor's lips. Victor leans to the side, giving Yuuri space to stroke himself, and Yuuri takes the opportunity to shimmy his sweats down mid-thigh but keeping his boxer briefs on.

His hands are shaking— when did they start shaking?— as he palms the tented front of his underwear, the warmth of Victor's kisses dripping into him and pooling in his groin like honey. The initial edge of passion has beveled off, and now, with Victor satisfied and himself still not there, the feeling is raw. He's exposed and there's nowhere to hide, and even the spinning of his mind can't make him forget that. It's silly, given the way his confidence had flowed out so easily when they bantered, but he's still scared, despite the dream and despite Victor seeming to enjoy this and despite his body telling him to just let it happen. His hands stop completely.

The kissing helps— the kissing always helps, but, like his senses are wired to Yuuri's, Victor pulls back again, troubled when Yuuri's mouth stops reciprocating. He finds confusion in Yuuri's eyes.

"What's wrong, Yuuri?" Victor murmurs, cupping his cheek and smoothing his hand down to rest on Yuuri's collar.

"Nothing. Something. I don't know," Yuuri croaks back, tears threatening to leak from behind his eyes. "Sorry, I'm… I don't know why."

Does Victor understand what that means? How can he, when Yuuri can't make sense of it himself? Fuck, this is all going wrong. Yuuri covers his eyes with his forearm, taking a shaky breath. This was supposed to be _fun_ ; this was supposed to help them grow closer, not make them end up in an emotional train wreck like this.

"Talk to me, please." Victor requests gently, though his heart is anything but calm. He's never dealt with this before— and it tugs at him, because clearly, something is wrong. Yuuri isn't telling him to stop, but he's conflicted.

"I just- I _want_ to relax. It felt good, I've never tried this before." It aches to spill all this out now, after all they've just done, but Yuuri's gotten worse at holding things in since Victor came along. "You're here, so I'm not alone, but I don't know what to do."

"I want you to feel good, whatever we do. It doesn't have to be sex."

"No, I want to continue," Yuuri insists. "I just don't know how."

If it's a push Yuuri needs, Victor thinks he can provide it—though it might be risky. But Yuuri wants to continue, and if Victor is honest with himself, he wants to, too. So he presses a dry kiss to Yuuri's lips as a prelude before speaking. "Okay. Why don't you tell me what you dreamed about?"

"My… dream?" Yuuri repeats, caught unprepared.

"It must have been good if it inspired you to do this," Victor coaxes, smoothing his fingers over the fabric of Yuuri's shirt. "Where was I?"

Yuuri hesitates, but decides to play along, after recognizing that Victor's not teasing him at all. His voice is patient; Yuuri's thankful to be grounded by it. "You were, uh, kneeling. In front of me."

"Okay," Victor smiles, lifting himself off the sofa and getting off it. Yuuri's heart stutters when he realizes what Victor's doing— he's trying to _reenact_ Yuuri's _dream_. "What else?"

"Um," sitting up and swinging his legs off the cushions, Yuuri adds, "kneeling between my legs."

"Kinky," Victor grins, shuffling into place and making Yuuri's face heat back up again. "How about my hands?"

"On my thighs." Yuuri admits, leaving out the fact they were bare in his dream. Victor doesn't need to know that right now. He holds his breath as Victor's hands are put in place, creeping down a little to the insides of his thighs, resting there and feeling maybe even hotter than in his dream. His stomach churns— the good, aroused kind of churn, not the nervous sense of dread from moments before. How did Victor have such an immediate effect on him?

Victor looks up at him expectantly. His expression is different from in Yuuri's dream, but it's no less stunning, with the caring tilt of his head and eyebrows raised in curiousity. "And then?"

"T-That's it." Yuuri confesses, closing his hands into fists by his sides. Victor's jaw drops in surprise. "I _told_ you it wasn't a sex dream."

 _Please don't think I'm a pervert, oh my god_ , Yuuri prays, watching for Victor's reaction. _It was my brain, not me, I can explain-_

"Oh, _Yuuri_ ," Victor marvels, a giddy smile spreading across his face. "I love you so much."

"But…?" Yuuri supplies, sure that there must be some kind of catch.

"No 'buts.' You're _adorable_." Dropping a kiss on Yuuri's knee, Victor rests his cheek on it and laughs, looking up at Yuuri with so much fondness that his heart can't bear it. It's equal parts relieving and confusing— why doesn't Victor find that weird? _Yuuri_ finds it weird, and he makes a face that makes Victor laugh.

"You know, this reminds me a lot of what _I_ imagined the other day," Victor remarks, tracing his fingers along Yuuri's thighs. "My mind is a tad dirtier than yours, it seems."

"What did you… What did you imagine?" Yuuri gulps. _Dirtier_ than his mind? That's not a very high bar, but he's curious, and frankly, aroused at the thought.

"You want to know?" Victor asks, smiling secretively. "Touch yourself for me while I tell you."

Yuuri reaches into his pants to feel his erection through his underwear— it's back to being hard, and Victor keeps his eyes on Yuuri's face— which Yuuri's thankful for, since he doesn't know if he can handle Victor's direct gaze on his cock right now. The slow, warm rub of his own hand is familiar enough territory. Victor's presence is just a bonus.

"Well, I started off thinking about when we kiss." Victor murmurs, low and sensuous. Yuuri didn't even know Victor's voice _had_ that setting. "About how much I like it when we make out before we sleep— and how much you seem to like it, too."

"Uh-Uhuh?"

"And then I thought about how soft your lips are, and how lovely they are to kiss."

 _Soft? My lips?_ Yuuri thinks, licking said lips. They're pretty soft, but no, Victor's are way better to kiss. "Yours… Yours are too."

"Well, thank you," Victor chuckles, pleased. "I try to take care of them— but I'm afraid that kissing wasn't the only thing I thought about." He pauses, recollecting his thoughts, before continuing. "You have a surprisingly dirty mouth, you know."

"S-Sorry," Yuuri murmurs, and Victor shakes his head.

"No, I like it. Though I'd prefer to hear more of it in _private_ …" Victor trails off, letting Yuuri's own mind do the calculations. It comes back with a big blaring "ERROR" message, because Yuuri just can't form any coherent thought, already straining to understand Victor's words. "...And then I realized that there could be other things done with that mouth. _Nonverbal_ things. I know how you kiss; it's not too hard to imagine more." Victor keeps his description light, for the time being. Not everyone is enthused by the idea of giving oral, after all— but Yuuri seems to like it just fine, gasping at the prospect.

When did Victor get so good at talking like this? Not that they've tried it before, but Victor is so… well-spoken, elegant. And this is the same, except _sexy_. Revealing enough to get the point across, and just suggestive enough to set Yuuri's nerves aflame. He pants, ducking his head into his chest as he works his fist a little faster.

"I tried not to think about you; I thought it would be wrong to, since you didn't want more." Massaging his thumbs along the length of Yuuri's thighs, Victor recounts. "Imagine how surprised I was to hear that you… you thought of me in the shower. That you might find me just as irresistible as I find you."

He'd averted his gaze trying to form his thoughts into words, and Victor looks into Yuuri's face and finds him _desperate_. Stripped of much of his trepidation, beautifully blushing and keyed up from the things Victor is saying. Eyes glassy and lidded. Victor has no choice but to lean up and kiss him, relishing the high-pitched moan that he feels on his lips, engraving it into his memory as the best thing he's ever heard. Yuuri is enjoying this, _finally_.

Then, Victor remembers what he thought of next— no, not the vibrator or their cuddling, but… the _spaghetti_. He exhales amusedly, and Yuuri wakes from his daze a little, making a questioning noise. There's no turning back now; Victor decides to go with it. If Yuuri was so mortified over a non-sex dream involving nothing more than Victor between his legs, Victor deserves to be a little embarrassed, too.

"You're going to laugh when I tell you what I thought of next." He warns, resettling his knees. They'll hurt a little later from the thin carpet, but the moment is more important. "I remembered a meal we had."

"A… meal?" Yuuri murmurs, hardly registering what that might mean.

Victor nods sheepishly. "There's a reason why I didn't want to order the carbonara on Wednesday."

Yuuri stops completely, blinking wide-eyed at his boyfriend. "C-Carbonara? Wait, what…"

"The _cream_ gets a little messy." Victor alludes, and wipes a little drool from the corner of Yuuri's mouth. What an opportunity— the action helps Yuuri put two and two together, and he gapes helplessly.

Carbonara, cream, _white stuff_ … _Messy_. Oh, god, there's only one thing that can mean. Yuuri shudders just thinking about it. He was so worried about leaving a cum-print on the shower just a week ago, and now… Victor thought about one _on his face_. Finally, it clicks, and Yuuri can't help but curl forward and shudder with the surge of arousal that the revelation brings. How can he laugh at _that?_ "F-Fuck, _Victor_ …"

"That's it, Yuuri, just focus on feeling good." Victor coos, brushing Yuuri's sweaty bangs away from his forehead. "You're so sexy."

Yuuri doesn't know if he feels sexy right now, but he's starting to believe it, a little. The snatches of vision he gets between blinks prove that Victor's looking at him like he's the most captivating person in the world, like no one could ever hold his attention but Yuuri. He's blushing hard, too— it reminds Yuuri he's not alone in this, even if Victor's hands are doing the bare minimum. Maybe he could be doing more.

Yuuri manages to convey that, babbling it somehow, and Victor's surprised reaction dissolves into pure devotion at his request.

"Of course, yes, anything you want," Victor breathes, straightening up so his thighs are flush with the couch. Given permission, he lets his hands explore, first pulling Yuuri in by his nape to mouth behind his ear and down to his clavicle. His other hand searches lower, careful not to disrupt the jerking of Yuuri's fist but sliding up the sweaty expanse of belly under the hem of Yuuri's t-shirt. God, how did he get so lucky? He almost forgets to speak, reveling in the _aliveness_ of Yuuri, the way his stomach clenches tight, the way his breaths come full from his chest and the way his thighs tighten with exertion. "I, ah... " Victor stammers, remembering himself, "I still haven't told you all of it."

 _Tell me already,_ Yuuri's thoughts plead, breath coming too hard for words with the addition of Victor's touch on his body. It makes him more tense, more urgent for release but wound up like a too-tight spring, sudden tears springing to the corners of his eyes, _oh,_ _Victor, god-_

The impulse to show, not tell, aches in Victor's chest. _Would it be too much? Just a quick suck, nothing more._ His hands tighten on Yuuri's thighs, forcing himself to still. "I thought about you in my mouth." Victor says, bluntly. "How you might taste, how much I would love it. How much _you_ could love it." His tongue is cotton in his mouth, barely believing he's actually laying all these fantasies bare. "I-I could show you."

Yuuri's movements stutter at the suggestion— Victor, with his mouth— he _wants_ it. Even as lewd as it sounds. He's in no place to hide anything right now, teary and trembling and tired from the long day but throbbing for relief. Yuuri gasps, "yes, _fuck_ — sh-show me, show—"

And then he doesn't have to ask anymore, because there's intense wet heat at the very tip of him, it feels _incredible_ , and it only takes a suck or two for Yuuri's hips to move of their own accord. His back arches into Victor as he moans and grips— Victor's shirt, his hair?— and has the most intense orgasm he's had in his twenty-four years of life, because of his _boyfriend,_ this amazing person who doesn't hesitate to do anything for him, who… who definitely just _gulped_ , but Yuuri's mind is in shambles and he'll deal with that later.

He only feels a soft kiss and the drag of tissues across his abdomen as he drifts, and he doesn't feel much else for a while.

 

* * *

 

He awakens what feels like an eternity later to weight on part of his chest and his sweaty clothes still sticking to his skin. Gross— but a glance down reveals Victor's hair, light enough to see in the dim light, and his arms, wrapped around Yuuri. The patterned sofa throw is draped over them both, and a glance at the clock on the TV stand shows that it's just past three in the morning.

Sensing Yuuri stirring, Victor lifts his head blearily, and Yuuri freezes when he sees Victor's contented smile. _Oh,_ he thinks, squinting in the dark.

"You fell asleep after you came," Victor murmurs, chin against Yuuri's chest. "You're _wonderful_."

Cheeks starting to burn anew, Yuuri looks away, mouth feeling dry. "I… Thank you," he rasps, and Victor seems delighted to hear his voice so wrecked.

"Mm. Thank _you_." Victor replies, hugging Yuuri closer. "Wanna go to bed?" Yuuri nods, and he manages to walk into their room on unsteady legs.

When they wake up after sleeping in _way_ late, Yuuri remembers everything in the shower, and Victor laughs when he panics over where, exactly, his ejaculate went last night. The answer, of course, is that it went into Victor's mouth, and that after Yuuri fell asleep, he'd gone to the bathroom to take care of himself and collect damp towels to wipe Yuuri down with.

Perhaps the previous night didn't go according to Yuuri's plan, but he has to admit, seeing Victor so happy and content and feeling the same way himself, that it was a success nonetheless.

Now, if only Yuuri would get over Victor _swallowing_. There are many things Victor wants to do to and with Yuuri, now that they've begun this dimension of their relationship.

It's only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic was supposed to be, at maximum, 3k words. But I guess I just can't rush them! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! Comments are much appreciated- this is a little different from my past smutfics.
> 
> Speaking of my past fics, I have three explicit Victuuri fics over on my pseud, [blushunder!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/blushunder) Check those out if you want more!


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